High Class
by Mr. Lefty
Summary: Complete! When the Smashers are called to attend a fancy party, Marth is chosen by Master Hand to instruct them on the finer points of high society.  And we can all guess how well that goes...
1. Chapter 1

_**High Class**_

In more than one sense of the word "high."

By Mr. Lefty

* * *

The sun shone down upon the city, uninhibited by any rogue clouds. It was the kind of day that made people want to be overly friendly to other people for no good reason. It was the kind of day that made people want to spontaneously burst into song and dance. The kind of day that would maybe even prevent the rest of the people from beating up the singing and dancing idiots. 

The sun's euphoric effects did not go unfelt at the residence of the famous Super Smash Brothers. A number of them were currently engaged in a friendly game of Frisbee on the mansion's ample front lawn.

"Hey, dumbass, throw it over here!"

"No, you suck!"

Friendly, indeed…

The former possessor of the flying disc, Marth, flung the Frisbee over to Roy, who jumped and caught it. He was about to send it to Luigi in the end zone, when a massive chunk of scaly flesh and claws broadsided the red-haired swordsman.

Mario, who was chosen as the referee due to his experience with Mike Tyson's boxing, put his face in his palm exasperatedly. "For the last time, Bowser, you can't tackle in Ultimate Frisbee!"

"Then it's not very ultimate, now is it?" the Koopa King replied, hefting himself off of the now nearly two-dimensional Roy.

"Five-yard penalty to Bowser's team," Mario announced, to the collective groans and insults on the field.

"Hey, you can't do five-yard penalties! It's Frisbee!" Bowser cried indignantly.

"If you're going to do football stuff, then so will I," retorted the plumber.

A few moments later, Link, the Chosen Hero of Hyrule, slowed his run and announced, "Phone's ringing!"

The ensuing repartee went as usual: someone asked how he heard that; Link replied that his large ears weren't just for show; and the obligatory comment was made that Link's ears were just compensating for something.

"I got this one!" shouted Roy, already halfway to the house's front door, and seemingly unharmed by Bowser's assault on his three-dimensional form.

Roy's childlike enthusiasm to answer the phone stemmed from the swordsman's love for pranks and immaturity of all kinds. In this case, Roy was preparing to make a sort of "reverse prank call;" that is, answer the phone in such a way as to shock and/or dismay the unfortunate caller. In his tenure as the place's self-proclaimed "official phone answerer," Roy had feigned demonic possession when talking to Bible salesmen, pretended not to speak English, and asked lost pizza delivery boys what they were wearing.

"Hello, you've reached the Pleasure Palace, Rod Manly speaking," Roy said in a deep, seductive voice after picking up the phone. The person on the "receiving end," as it were, said something. "Master Hand, you say?" Roy replied. "I happen to have a 'master hand,' and for $9.95, you can experience it first'hand,' ha ha ha."

What Roy didn't realize was that there was a giant, white, floating, disembodied hand behind him. "Give me that," Master Hand somehow said, snatching away the phone. "Sorry about that…uh-huh, yes…" the hand said, the telephone's receiver floating eerily beside it. "Oh, hello! Just fine…WHAT?" Had Master Hand been drinking anything (if it were possible for him to drink) he would have cartoonishly spewed it onto the nearest object. "Uhh…yes, yes, of course…sure, bye…" Master Hand, obviously shaken, slowly put the receiver back into place.

"Tell the others, Roy," Master Hand said, softly and rather dramatically.

"Tell them what? That you're pregnant?"

"No, you idiot. Tell them to meet in the lobby as quickly as possible. I have an announcement to make."

* * *

The Smashers slowly trickled into the lobby, many looking slack-jawed and vacant, others making small talk with whoever (or whatever) happened to be next to them (in Bowser's case, a lamp). 

"Attention, shoppers, er, Smashers," said Master Hand. "I just got off the phone with one of the Smash Brothers program's most prominent investors, and…well, he wants us to attend a party at his house this weekend."

Several excited yells were heard throughout the crowd. Bowser made the "rock n' roll" sign with his claws and smashed the lamp he was flirting with on the ground like an electric guitar.

"Calm down, people! Really, what are you, children?" the Hand said indignantly. Mario removed his finger from his nose. "Now, this is not a 'wild party' by any stretch of the imagination. This is going to be a sophisticated affair, and I can't have you all acting like animals."

Donkey Kong raised his hand. "But what if we _are_—"

"I really don't care," interrupted Master Hand. "Just act civilized for once."

"Why would we do that?" someone asked.

"That's a good question," Master Hand replied in a tone that suggested he thought it was quite the opposite. "You see, when a man and a woman love each other very much, sometimes the man puts…no, sorry, that's the wrong speech. What I meant to say was that the Super Smash Brothers fighting program is funded by many private investors. Should you people go to the party and act like idiots, it's very likely that the investors would rethink their plans and cut off our supply of money. If that happens…well, I think you can guess the rest."

"Would that mean no more scented bath salts?" asked Ganondorf.

"Yes, Ganon, your supply of scented bath salts would be effectively cut off."

"Oh, dear."

"However, I believe there is hope for you morons. I'm a firm believer in the power of teaching and learning. Therefore, I'm going to have someone besides me teach you the basics of etiquette and being in the company of polite society." The giant glove scanned his audience, the majority of which suddenly seemed to find invisible loose change on the ground. "Ah…Marth! You'd be perfectly suited for the job. You're a classy guy."

"Wha…huh? No!" the prince shouted. "No, I'm not classy at all! I…uh…scratch myself in public, chew with my mouth open…have horrible table manners…" Marth suddenly wished he had paid attention when Roy was instructing him on how to belch on command. "I haven't washed these clothes in three weeks!"

"Nice try, Marth. I don't think there's anyone here who would disagree that you're…how do you kids say it…'metrosexual.'" Master Hand made a quotation mark gesture with his body.

"What?"

"Relax, it doesn't mean you're gay. At least, that's what they said on 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy'…"

"Forget it, I'm not doing it."

"Please?" the Hand begged.

"No."

"I'll make you coffee every morning..."

"Your coffee always tastes like latex," said Marth.

"I'm a giant glove! What do you expect my coffee to taste like? Cinnamon?" Master Hand clenched himself and relaxed. "Okay, how about fifty bucks?"

"Done."

If Master Hand had had his own hands, he would have clapped them together with a sense of finality. "Right, then. Everyone, meet in the auditorium tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp! As for me, I'm going to go watch Qu…I mean, wrestling. Wait, no, that's worse. Will and Grace? Yeah, there we go. Wait, no, dammit…" The Hand floated away, muttering something about "I Love Lucy."

As the crowd dispersed, Marth rubbed his temples and tried his best not to think about the horrors that would await him come nine o'clock tomorrow.

* * *

Well, that's Chapter 1. The rest will be funnier, really. At least I hope so... 

Anyway, please review; just click that little blue "Go" button in the bottom right corner of your screen.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Marth surveyed the empty auditorium in front of him from his spot on the stage. The clock on the wall across from him read precisely 8:58 a.m., two minutes before Marth had been scheduled to teach his fellow fighters how to be civilized. The blue-haired swordsman took a sip of his coffee. He had originally tried to spike the drink with bourbon in preparation for his duties, but what he thought was bourbon turned out to be Tabasco sauce. He would have thrown it out, but he decided after a few sips that it tasted surprisingly good.

As Marth enjoyed his bizarre beverage, Smashers began to slowly trickle in to the room. The prince looked up from his drink (which, he decided, might taste better with some sugar in it) to see nearly the entire population of the house sitting in front of him. Marth was surprised they even showed up (though he secretly hoped they wouldn't).

"Well, it's good to see you all here," he said. "Is this everyone?"

"DK and Peach aren't here yet," someone said.

"Wah wah wee wah," said a voice that could only be Roy's.

While Marth was struggling to banish some very nightmarish thoughts out of his head, the ape and princess in question came in to the auditorium.

"Sorry we're late, Marth," Peach said, "Donkey just had to help me dislodge a banana from my—"

"Peach, please don't finish that sentence," Marth said, Roy's words not entirely out of his head.

A confused Peach turned to DK, and whispered, "What's his problem? Not my fault if some joker decides to stick fruit in my bathroom sink." The ape shrugged.

"Well," Marth continued, beginning to pace the stage in a teacher-like manner, "incidentally, this conversation transitions well into what I wanted to talk about."

"Dislodging fruit from places?" asked Mario confusedly.

"No, it was more along the lines of 'appropriate topics of conversation.' Now, who can tell me what an appropriate topic of conversation is?" No one moved. "Anyone? How about you, Zelda? You should know about stuff like this."

"Um…the price of corn?" the princess asked hesitantly.

"Good! Yes, prices are always a good thing to discuss, and the stodgier the item, the better. Of course, it's also always good to mention how everything used to be cheaper. So now that we've got a general idea, how about we play a little game?" said Marth.

"Can we play the 'Throw Things at People Wearing Blue' game?" asked Roy?

"No. And that's not a real game anyway."

"What about the 'Let's Go Back to Bed' game?"

"Okay, now it's just getting pathetic," commented Marth. "No, what I had in mind was going one by one and having you all name an appropriate topic of conversation. So, let's start over here with Luigi." The prince pointed to the green-clad plumber.

Luigi stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "The…price of corn?" he said.

"Luigi, the idea is to say something different than what someone else said."

"The price of tickets to see the band Korn?" Luigi hazarded again.

"Think of something that doesn't involve corn," Marth said exasperatedly.

Roy raised his hand. "Does that include things that rhyme with 'corn?'"

"Yes," Marth said, having a good guess at what Roy was thinking.

"Okay, okay," Luigi said. "How about…the price of mushrooms?"

Marth sighed. "Ignoring the fact that what you said could be horribly misinterpreted," he said, "try thinking of something that's not about prices of stuff."

The rusty, mushroom-clogged gears in Luigi's head turned. "I've got it! The _rice _of corn."

"Luigi, that doesn't even make sense," said Marth despondently, putting his face in his hands.

"That's Mama Luigi to you," the man in green said.

Marth's pacing path led back to the stage's podium, and sipped his now-lukewarm coffee. It tasted revolting now, prompting Marth to spit it out in an impossibly large spray.

"Are you calling me out, Marth?" asked Roy _a la_ a wannabe gangster. The bizarre amalgamation of pure confusion and annoyance on Marth's face sufficed for a response. Unfortunately, Roy interpreted it as the wrong response. "Spitting contest, go!"

"No!" shouted the prince before the crowd had a chance to expectorate all over what would likely be the entirety of the auditorium. "Come on, people! By the way, spitting contests aren't appropriate for fancy parties, either."

"Really? I hear some of those old guys are pretty good. I read about a guy who could spit not only saliva but also—"

"Alright, that's enough," Marth said with the air of the crazy guy who's trying unsuccessfully to restrain himself from going on a murderous rampage. "You people are morons, and I really don't want to be here." He walked away from the podium and surveyed the Smashers. "Haha, you guys thought I was going to throw a hissy fit, walk out on you, and leave you to teach yourselves! Yeah, I'm not that stupid."

Some curses and annoyed sounds were heard from the audience.

"Anyway, here. I'll just give you some topics of conversation that are generally accepted to be kosher among sophisticated company."

"My favorite is Hebrew National," said Mario.

Ignoring the unorthodox (but at the same time Orthodox) outburst, Marth continued, "You'll want to restrict your conversation to involve such topics as economics, classical music, philosophy – but none of that postmodern stuff, just talk about the old guys with weird hair like Kant or Hobbes --, art, and Robert Altman films. Complaining about hobos and socialists is also acceptable."

"This is boring!" shouted Ganondorf.

"I'm glad you feel that way, Ganon, because I was just about to move on. The next subject is dining."

"This is still boring!" the Gerudo king shouted again.

"Ganon, three words: scented bath salts. If you ever want to see them again, you'll listen to me."

"Aw god dammit," Ganon said in a rather Cartman-esque manner.

"Anyway, when sitting down to eat, who can tell me where the napkin goes?" Marth asked. "And the first person to say 'up your ass' gets this coffee – which grows more disgusting by the second – in their face," he added as an extra precaution.

"Does it go on your mouth?" hazarded Fox.

"Well, yes, but before that."

"On the place where you've just spilled?"

"Okay, before you spill food on yourself, where does it go?"

Roy, being Roy, simply couldn't resist. "Up your a…a-aaachoo!"

Marth smirked. "That's karma for you, Roy. Care to enlighten us with any more vulgarity?"

Roy frowned. "It's just allergies."

"Roy, I thought the only thing you were allergic to is badgers."

"No, I only have an irrational, paralyzing fear of badgers. I'm allergic to porcupines," the redhead said.

"Oh, silly me, I forgot about the nest of porcupines under your chair," Marth said, rolling his eyes. "Now can we please get back on topic?"

Marth saw a small, orange-colored bottle fly through the air to be caught by Roy. "Here you go, Roy," said Mario, the bottle's original owner. "These pills should clear up that sneeze."

"Uh, Mario, why do you have those?"

"Well, I'm a doctor, aren't I? And doctors carry medicine on them at all times. At least I think they do…" said Mario, even though he was no more of a doctor than Doctor Who or Dr. Phil.

Marth resisted a strong urge to bang his head against the podium.

* * *

The rest of the lesson went as well as can be expected; Marth continued attempting to teach the Smashers how to be fancy, and they continued to teach Marth how not to have faith in humanity (or any sentient life, for that matter). By the time he was done, the only aristocrats they seemed to resemble were those of the famous dirty joke.

"Hey, Marth, why so down?" asked Zelda, catching a depressed-looking Marth after his strenuous exercise in futility.

"I just hate people, that's all," he said simply.

Zelda laughed. "I actually have an idea that might help with your 'assignment.' If you made them listen to etiquette instructions while they were asleep, there's a chance that it would become ingrained in their minds and they would subconsciously know how to act."

"Does that actually work?" asked Marth.

Zelda shrugged. "Works on TV."

"Yeah…but most things on TV don't really make sense. Like the Oxygen channel or Rosie O'Donnell."

"I guess you're right. Okay, then, let me just use my magic to teleport back to where I can be in the company of a talking ape, an electric mouse, and a giant floating rubber glove."

"Point taken," said Marth. "But how do we do it?"

"I found a bunch of etiquette cassette tapes and headphones in a random closet. They were behind a bunch of taxidermy animal parts and empty New Coke cans." She held up a tape with a label that said "The Manner Nazi's Guide to Sophistication."

"Then let's get to work," Marth said gleefully.

* * *

That's Chapter 2. It may have sucked, but Chapter 3 is going to redeem this story. I'll try to post it before I leave town for two weeks on Saturday; unfortunately, I can't guarantee anything. Ah, well. Tune in next time for more chaos and mishaps, but until then, please review using the bluish button in the bottom LEFT corner -- thanks go out to Eternal Smasher for pointing out my mistake in the last chapter. :) 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Final Insult, er, Installment

For the first time in what seemed like days, Marth was optimistic. He and Zelda had spent the previous night busily equipping their fellow fighters with headphones that played etiquette and sophistication lessons while they slept in hopes that it would get them to act civilized at the party that the Smashers were to attend tonight.

When Marth had awoken this morning, the fighters seemed their normal selves. However, answers to questions he asked about trivial and obscure aspects of decorum had been correctly and enthusiastically (and, he noticed, almost robotically) answered. He had even engaged Bowser and Falco Lombardi in a rousing debate about symbolism in classic novels.

It was now precisely two hours before the Smashers were scheduled to leave in order to arrive fashionably late, and Marth had decided to call an impromptu meeting to see if the morning's events hadn't just been a coffee-and-Tabasco-induced hallucination.

Within a few minutes, Marth had what seemed to be the entirety of the Super Smash Brothers in front of him. "Okay, I just wanted to make sure you all were ready for tonight," he said. "Napkin goes where?"

"On your lap!" someone replied.

"Is the salad fork bigger or smaller than the dinner fork?"

"Smaller!"

"What were John Locke's views concerning the role of government?"

"That government can only be legitimately formed through the consent of the people, and can only retain its legitimacy through protecting the people's inalienable rights!"

_Those are some impressive tapes_, Marth thought. "Excellent job, all of you. Now, go and…wait, where's Ganondorf?"

"On your lap?" someone hesitantly replied again.

"No, seriously, I haven't seen him all day. And also, eww."

"Sorry I'm late, guys," said an unusually high-pitched voice. Ganondorf had arrived, dressed in cutoff jeans, no shirt, and a full American Indian chieftain headdress.

Marth's eyeballs grew almost to Kirby's size. "Good lord, Ganon, what are you wearing?"

"Oh, this old thing? Just something I threw together," the evil King of Thieves said, blushing a bit.

Marth was literally speechless. He wanted more than anything to look away from the monstrosity, but he was transfixed as one often is when confronted with something immensely grotesque.

Zelda came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. "I think I might know the cause of this," she whispered. She held out a tape, and Marth took it in horror.

"Oh, God."

On the tape's label was a sentence that would haunt Marth for quite a while: _The Very Best of the Village People_.

"How did this happen?" Marth asked, his voice becoming hoarse.

"I don't know. I guess it was just in there with the rest of the tapes…I wasn't looking when I put them in…" Zelda trailed off, looking worried.

Marth simply looked at the tape almost catatonically, shaking his head slowly and seriously questioning Master Hand's music preferences (among other preferences). "Okay, everyone," he said, finally, "you should go get ready for tonight. And for the love of humanity, Ganon, change your clothes," he added.

* * *

A bit later, Marth was standing in front of his bathroom mirror, adjusting his tie and tuxedo. "Sheesh, could you believe old 'Chief Smokem Man Pipe' back there?" Marth's roommate Roy asked. "You people wouldn't believe me when I said disco music was evil, but now look! Ganon's been corrupted, and it's only a matter of time before everyone here starts wearing tight pants and shiny suits."

Marth tried his best to ignore his friend's ranting, until Roy suddenly screamed "PARTY VAN!" at the top of his lungs. Marth looked at him in surprise.

"What was that?" he asked the red-haired swordsman.

"I…I don't know…achoo!" Roy sneezed. "Whoops, better take another one of those cold pills Mario gave me."

Before Roy could reach the pill bottle, Marth snatched it away. "Let me see these." He scanned the bottle's label for any sort of side-effects. Marth froze. By the ingredients was a sentence in fine, red print that read "Warning: May cause increasingly frequent outbursts of random and erratic behavior."

* * *

Link strode confidently down the mansion's hallway. He had just finished putting on his favorite suit. It was cut like a tuxedo, but instead of black, the suit was a particularly bright and reflective shade of green.

"Oh, hi, Samus," he said upon seeing the bounty hunter coming from the other way.

"Hey, Li…whoa! What the…?" Samus gave Link a face of the utmost puzzlement and revulsion.

"Yeah, the suit, I know. Turns a lot of heads!" he said, winking.

"I'm sure it does…Link, honestly, you look like someone shrunk the Jolly Green Giant."

"Sticks and stones, Samus," said Link condescendingly. "Just because you're jealous of my keen eye for flair doesn't mean you have to resort to insults." Link continued walking while Samus looked on incredulously.

Link arrived at the room of his friends Marth and Roy a few seconds later, knocked on the door, and was granted entrance by Roy.

"Yo, whatup, R-Dawg?" Link said.

Roy took on a melancholy expression. "Oh…I'm so sorry," he said. Link looked confused. "They…they finally got your Lucky Charms, didn't they?" Roy said, failing to keep a straight face and finally burst out laughing. Link thought nothing of the cry of "SHOOP DA WHOOP" that Roy emitted seconds later.

"So where's Marth?" Link asked, attempting to stray away from the subject of his suit.

"He said something about force-feeding Mario his own hat," Roy replied with a shrug.

They heard a rap on the door, and Link opened it up to find Zelda standing there holding two different dresses by their hangers.

"Hey, Zelda, what do you need?" Link asked enthusiastically.

"Uh…have you seen Marth?" Zelda said, choosing to ignore Link's fashion felonies. "I need his keen eye for flair to decide which dress I should wear tonight."

Link almost started to cry. "Keen eye for flair? I have a keen eye for flair, why don't you ask me?"

"Um…that's okay, Link. But don't worry," Zelda said, noticing Link's lower lip trembling, "you'll be the first person I come to if I want advice on how to camouflage myself in a tropical rainforest."

They stood there awkwardly for a second as Link's eyes welled up with tears. "Yeah, I gotta go," Zelda said abruptly, and ran down the hall as fast as one can in a dress and high heels.

Link stood in the doorway, his ego bruised, as Fox and Falco walked by and greeted him in thick Irish accents.

* * *

The Smashers took a series of limousines from the mansion to the ritzy neighborhood where the party was located. Marth was sitting with Roy, Link, Ganondorf, and Mario in the back of a limo in which the driver insisted on playing _The Very Best of Amateur Polka_ through the speakers. Roy's outbursts of insanity were becoming more and more frequent, Link was constantly fidgeting with his suit, and Mario was trying to get the taste of hat out of his mouth. Ganon had taken Marth's advice and changed; he now sported a pair of tight leather shorts, a tight blue shirt with a policeman's badge, and a police hat to "top it off," if you will.

Needless to say, the environment was not conducive to deep conversation. Occasionally, jokes would be flung at Link and his suit ("So when did you join the Green Lantern Corps?"), but for the most part, the ride was spent listening to Roy make cartoon noises.

As Roy began mimicking Daffy Duck, the limos pulled up to the house. It was good-sized, if not as large as the Smashers' house, and the front lawn bore its fair share of expensive lawn ornaments.

Master Hand floated out of a limo in front of Marth's (no one ever found out how he fit in it). "Okay, everybody, head on in," he said absently, making shooing motions with himself.

A doorman stood by the door (really?), casually observing the stream of fighters entering the abode. As Link prepared to follow Ganondorf over the threshold, he was stopped by a surprisingly strong arm.

"Whoa there, buddy, I'm afraid I can't let you in," the doorman said.

"Why not?" Link asked in confusion.

"Well…it's just that…the people here have certain tastes, and, well, your choice of attire and the general sense of aesthetics around here aren't exactly _simpatico_, you know what I mean?"

Link looked at him blankly.

The doorman sighed. "Your suit's ugly, and if you went in there, people would go blind and/or die."

"It's none of your business!" said Link angrily. "You're a doorman!"

The doorman shrugged semi-apologetically. "Desperate situations call for desperate measures. And if you're not a desperate situation, then I don't know what you are," he said, finishing by eyeing Link and arching an eyebrow.

"You let the Chief of the Ass Police in, but you're not letting me in?"

Link was met with a shrug and a gesture at his clothes from the doorman.

"What's the holdup?" an angry voice yelled from several feet back.

"Sir, if you please…" The doorman gestured away from the door. Link complied sullenly.

"No one stops Link for long," the Hylian said to himself. "I'll get into your party, Mr. Doorman. You'll see," he said contemptuously.

* * *

Inside the house's parlor, among the masses of fancily-dressed people drinking cocktails or eating hors d'oeuvres, Marth was scanning the crowd frantically to make sure that his pupils were behaving themselves. He saw no airborne food or shattered objects, so he assumed all was going well. That is, until he heard a series of whooping noises reminiscent of the Three Stooges come from somewhere on his left.

"Roy," Marth hissed, pulling him away from the gaze of a group of interested old people, "control yourself. Master Hand will have us both killed if you screw this up."

"I'm sorry, Marth. Really, it's just sort of this spontaneous—HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER OF MEN'S WEARHOUSE—" Roy continued making muffled noises after Marth clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Oh, Marth!" a voice called. Marth looked up to see Master Hand waving him over to where an elderly couple was standing.

"Marth, Roy, this is Mr. and Mrs. Schneiderberg. They're the Smash Brothers Program's most prominent investors," the hand said.

"Nice to meet you," Marth said, removing his hand from Roy's mouth to allow it to be shaken.

"Longcat is loooooo—" Marth's hand quickly returned to its former position over Roy's mouth.

"Heh, sorry," Marth said in response to the odd looks from the Schneiderbergs. "He's just a little…excited. So, how about that Picasso, huh?"

* * *

Outside the house, Link was roaming the generously-sized grounds in an attempt to find another way inside. All the while, he was muttering like a scorned man about to become a supervillain.

Occupied with his increasingly maniacal thoughts, Link's foot caught on something and he fell flat on his face. He got up, looked behind him, and saw what he had tripped on.

"Perfect," he said, grinning evilly.

* * *

Back in the house, both Roy's tenuous grip on sanity and Marth's tenuous grip on Roy's arm grew ever weaker. "Roy, please. Restrain yourself. Take deep breaths, and think of calming things," Marth whispered to his red-haired, shaking friend.

"C-calm…" Roy repeated hypnotically.

"That's right, calm," Marth said.

Suddenly, Roy emitted a scream that sounded exactly like R2-D2 during a high-adrenaline space battle. He broke free of Marth's grip and tore through the parlor, knocking people over like a linebacker running through a kindergarten class. Roy jumped up on the table where the food and drink were located, and started beating his chest like Tarzan.

Faced with utter chaos and ruination, an animalistic instinct struck Marth like a Falcon Punch. He started to run.

* * *

Outside the house, Link perused the edifice's exterior, looking for a possible way in. Like a beacon, Link saw an open window with a light on. Carrying the "present" he had found outside under his arm, Link procured his hookshot and latched on to the windowsill. The instrument pulled him up, and he squeezed through the window.

"AAAAAH!"

Link nearly fell back out the window. He had entered one of the house's bathrooms, complete with a seated, pants-less occupant adorning its porcelain throne. Link quickly used his free arm to cover his eyes, and the item under his other arm began to thrash wildly.

"Excuse me, sorry, so sorry!" Link said, bumping into what could have been every object in the bathroom, including the man on the toilet. He finally fumbled his way across to the doorknob, where, after banging his head against the wall one last time, Link exited the bathroom.

"Funny," the seated man said to himself after Link had left, "I always imagined leprechauns as being much shorter."

* * *

As Link wandered through the house's corridors, Roy stood on the parlor table dancing to an invisible beat, occasionally shouting things. Ganondorf had taken Roy's behavior as a cue, and was now spelling out "Y.M.C.A." with his arms.

"Young man, that is enough!" a voice said from the puzzled crowd. An elderly man climbed up on the table and confronted the insane swordsman. Ganon hopped down, muttering "Awkwaaaard…"

"Now, see here! I won't have you come in and ruin my party with your monkey-house antics!" the man shouted angrily.

In his attempt to push through the crowd and flee, Marth looked at the ruckus behind him to see that the man in question was Mr. Schneiderberg. _Oh, good lord_, he thought to himself. He tried to move faster.

"This is an outrage!" the investor said. "I don't believe it!"

"Habeeb it!" Roy said wildly.

"What?"

"Twinkie house!" Roy shouted, smacking Mr. Schneiderberg in the face.

"Stunned" would be understating how Schneiderberg looked. The redness from Roy's blow coupled with his rising anger turned the rich man's face a color very similar to Donkey Kong's tie.

"This is madness!" shouted Mr. Schneiderberg.

A hush suddenly swept the room. Roy grew very quiet and still.

"Madness?" Roy said softly and dangerously. He looked Mr. Schneiderberg directly in the eye. "THIS….IS…SMASH BROTHERS!" Roy shouted at the top of his lungs. He swiftly kicked the old man squarely in the chest, sending him sailing through the air and the large window behind him.

Roy's action seemed to be a cue for extreme pandemonium to ensue. A steady flow of people running and screaming effectively prevented Marth from moving.

Just then, Link burst through the doors and threw a now very agitated badger he had found outdoors into the crowd, shouting something about a doorman.

The effects of Mario's medicine mingling with the intense jolt of fear that Roy received upon seeing the badger sent him into wild hysterics. He ran erratically through the partygoers, knocking over probably more things than he would have if he had tried. Meanwhile, the sounds of people yelling blotted out the smooth jazz that had been playing previously.

The sudden, grating sound of microphone feedback acted like a dog whistle on the crowd; even Roy stopped running around and contented himself with chewing on a plastic plant, and the badger ran under a series of old ladies' dresses and jumped out the broken window.

"Everyone, I have an announcement to make," said Mr. Schneiderberg, who now wore a tattered suit and several bandages, and what little hair he had was mussed up. "I have decided after much, _much_, consideration…" He paused to give Master Hand what can only be described as "the stink-eye." "…that I will continue funding the Super Smash Program. Because," he said over the murmurs of confusion emitting from his audience, "if it weren't for that, these lunatics would be out on the streets! That is all," he said, and walked away. In the next room, the crowd could hear him shout, "Jeeves, I require frozen vegetables!"

The invitees stood in stunned silence for a while – many, including Master Hand, had fainted dead away – until a disco-like beat came over the house's elaborate sound system. Everyone turned to see Roy dancing on the table, microphone in hand, with Ganon gyrating accordingly next to him. Then, Roy began to sing:

_We're no strangers to love_

_You know the rules and so do I_

_A full commitment's what I'm thinkin' of_

_You wouldn't get this from any other guy…_

As Roy regaled the revelers with Rick Astley, Marth caught Zelda's eye among the masses. "Well, sorry it didn't quite work out," she said.

"Ah, don't worry about it. In fact, I think I'll go and reverse the subliminal messaging; it made everyone really boring," he said.

"I guess you learned something, then," Zelda said.

"…No, I didn't."

Roy rattled off a list of things he was "never gonna" do to you, and Marth, Zelda, the rest of the Smashers, and finally the entirety of the partygoers started dancing anachronistically.

* * *

"That's a nice badger…it's alright," Link said nervously to the small, irate carnivore that was inching toward the green-clad Hylian. "I didn't mean to do it, I swear…I'll give you a dollar, you can buy badger food…Oh God, NOOOOO!"

* * *

Heh heh. Y'all just got Rickrolled. ;) Anyway, that's the end of that. Reviews, as always, are appreciated; they keep me motivated to write nonsense like this. 


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